


seven kisses

by thepsychicclam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:05:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepsychicclam/pseuds/thepsychicclam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>seven kisses in harry potter's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	seven kisses

1

Harry could never remember being kissed. Ever. Not by anyone. His aunt and uncle surely didn’t kiss him goodnight or when they were leaving. And he had no one else.

Some days, he would watch Aunt Petunia with Dudley. He didn’t want Aunt Petunia fussing over him like she did Dudley; Harry definitely never wanted her to call him Harrykins. But when Aunt Petunia was cuddling Dudley or kissing him before he left for school, Harry wondered what it would be like for his own mother to kiss him.

He knew that in the one year before his parents died his mother and father had surely kissed him plenty. Sometimes, when he was in the cupboard under the stairs feeling lonely, he tried to imagine them both. He had no idea what they looked like. He had once asked Aunt Petunia if she had any pictures of his parents, but she yelled at him and told him not to ask questions. He poked around for pictures, but there were none that he could find. Sometime later he asked her what his mother looked like, and she sent him to bed without supper, so he didn’t ask again.

So he imagined. He had dark hair and green eyes, so he thought both his parents probably looked like him. He knew his mother was Aunt Petunia’s sister, but in his mind, his mother was beautiful, and Aunt Petunia was definitely not beautiful. He imagined his mother smiling instead of having the pinched look Aunt Petunia always had on her face.

Some nights, while Harry was trying to fall asleep, he would imagine his mother tucking him into bed. She made the blankets all snug around him, brushed his hair off his forehead, and kissed his cheek before saying, “Good night, Harry. I love you.”

*

2

When Ron had rescued him from the Muggles, Harry couldn’t believe his luck. He had never had people all around him that liked to talk to him, people to play with, people that made him feel like he was part of a real family. He was having the best summer of his life.

He watched Ron with Mrs. Weasley like he used to watch Dudley with Aunt Petunia. Mrs. Weasley fussed over Ron and kissed him goodnight, which made Ron yell “Mom!” and look annoyed, but Harry could see that he actually liked it and expected it every night. Instead of rolling his eyes like he did at Dudley and Aunt Petunia, Harry felt jealous every time Mrs. Weasley kissed Ron goodnight. He imagined that Mrs. Weasley would be a lot like his own mother (though he imagined his own mother yelling a lot less). Harry had never longed for a mother as much as he did when he watched Mrs. Weasley with any of her children.

One night during their last week at the Burrow, they said goodnight, Ron getting his nightly kiss on the forehead. Harry waved as he started up the stairs, but Mrs. Weasley hugged him and gave him a kiss on top of his hair. Ron said “Mom!” in his best exasperated voice and pulled Harry up the stairs, but Harry couldn’t believe it.

It was the first time he remembered that anyone had kissed him in the entire twelve years he’d been living. It was almost like having a mother.

*

3

“I can’t believe that I was what you treasured most,” Ron said, pushing Harry as they walked up to the dormitory.

“Well, they couldn’t put my Firebolt underwater. It would ruin the dramatic effect since a broomstick can’t drown,” Harry said sarcastically.

“Thanks, mate. Second to a broomstick.”

Harry laughed. Truth was he was kind of embarrassed that Ron had been chosen for the task. It couldn’t have been someone he had a crush on, like Cedric and Viktor’s had been. At least Fleur got her little sister. But Harry had his best friend taken, his best friend that was a guy. Malfoy had already given him crap about it; he heard him say something like “Potter and Weasley make a pathetic couple” to a group of Slytherins as he passed them in the Great Hall earlier that day. He shouldn’t have let it bother him, but well, his nerves hadn’t been the best since he started the Tournament.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Harry said. He toed off his shoes and pulled off his cloak. “You’re still a prat a lot of the time.”

“Likewise.” Ron grinned and tossed his cloak on the messy pile of clothes at the foot of his bed. Harry loosened his tie and sat on the edge of his bed. He was tired, even though it was relatively early.

“Want to go downstairs and play some Exploding Snap with Fred and George?”

“Nah. I think I want to stay up here for awhile. I don’t really feel like being around everyone.” He lay back against the headboard, stretching his legs out.

“Want some company? We can play Wizard’s Chess.”

“Alright.” Harry watched as Ron dug the set out of his trunk. He sat down on the floor between their beds, crossing his legs as Ron set up the game between them. They had played more than half of the game before either spoke.

“I know it’s kinda lame,” Ron started as he moved his rook, “and if you ever tell anyone what I’m about to tell you – especially Fred and George – I swear I’ll deny everything.” Harry looked up at Ron with interest, but Ron kept his gaze focused on his rook that was crushing Harry’s bishop. “When McGonagall told me that I was gonna be put down there for you, I was excited. I mean, I know you’re my best friend and all, it just…”

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. He hadn’t thought about that, but it made perfect sense. Ron was the youngest boy in a line of talented, intelligent, and attractive brothers where he wasn’t the best in anything. And as he learned the hard way earlier that year, being friends with Harry never helped. He hadn’t thought about what it had meant to Ron that he was what Harry treasured the most.

“Thanks, mate,” Ron finally said, his cheeks a light shade of pink.

Harry’s not sure what came over him. Maybe it was the stress of the Tournament, or Ron’s vulnerability in the moment, or the realization of something that he’d known for a very long time. But as another one of Ron’s pieces was demolishing one of his own, he leaned across the board and kissed Ron fully on the lips. The kiss was quick, chaste, and as Harry pulled back he knocked three pieces off the board. Neither boy noticed; they just stared at each other in shock, then smiled shyly.

*

4

Neither spoke about the kiss after it happened. Too much happened for either to be worried about it. But when Harry was alone at Privet Drive, plagued by nightmares of Cedric and Voldemort, his mind sometimes drifted to Ron and the kiss. It helped to think of something other than that awful night in the graveyard, and thinking of kissing Ron made him happier than anything else did.

Then when he went to Grimmauld Place, he tried to forget about it again. It was a lot more difficult to do simple every day tasks like cleaning when he was so near to Ron and his brain was consumed with kissing him. In Harry’s mind, the simple peck they shared in the dorm had become an epic kiss with lots of tongue and hands.

Harry knew he was daft to think anything of the kiss. It was some freak thing shared between two best friends during a highly stressful time. That was it. He avoided thoughts like perhaps he had meant it more than just a friendly peck. He pretended that his heart didn’t race every time Ron bumped him accidentally or put a companionable arm around his neck. He ignored the way he wanted to kiss Ron again whenever they were alone. He definitely pretended that he did not appreciate the length of Ron’s torso, his long fingers, the chords in his neck.

One night, when he thought Ron was asleep, Harry lay there and watched him in the sparse light coming through the crack in the drapes. He could barely see the freckles on Ron’s face in the dark. He liked the way Ron’s hair fell across his forehead, the way his mouth hung open just so that he could see the light glistening on his bottom lip.

“Are you watching me?” Ron murmured into the darkness. Harry saw his eyelids open; he swallowed.

“No.”

“Liar.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what he could say to get out of this one.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it either,” Ron said, voice low.

Harry didn’t respond immediately. They were facing one another, laying on the edge of their beds, staring at each other in the darkness. There wasn’t that much space between the two beds, but it felt so far. He could pretend he had no clue what Ron was talking about, but he didn’t want to pretend. He got excited just at the thought that Ron had thought about the kiss, too.

“Thought I was the only one,” Harry finally said.

“Definitely not the only one,” Ron muttered. “So?”

“So…what?” Harry didn’t think he could be referring to what he thought he was.

“What do you think?”

“About what?”

“Bloody hell, Harry. About doing it again. You know. Snogging. Me and you. Snogging each other.”

“Oh,” Harry said dumbly. “I thought that was what you were referring to.” He was silent for a moment, processing.

“I mean, we don’t have to. It was a dumb idea. Must be this place, gotten to my brain – “

“Ron, shut up. I meant, I was hoping that was what you meant.”

“You want to do it again?” Ron’s voice was hopeful as he lifted up on one elbow.

“What do you think?”

Ron got out of bed and crossed what felt like the length of three Quidditch pitches to Harry’s bed. He crawled over Harry and lay down on the empty side.

“I’m hoping you mean you want to snog me senseless.”

“Sounds about right.” Harry smiled and reached a hand behind Ron’s head as Ron leaned down towards him. The first touch of their lips together was much like it was before – quick, close-mouthed. Then Harry threaded his fingers into Ron’s hair, and Ron scooted closer as he kissed him again. This time they were both bolder. Harry opened his mouth for a breath and Ron stuck his tongue in his mouth, much too forcefully. At first it felt like their tongues were two swords dueling, but the longer they kissed, the more they relaxed. They both slowed some, turning their heads slightly until they found the best position where Harry’s glasses weren’t digging into his face or Ron’s nose wasn’t poking him. Harry liked the feel of Ron’s lips against his own; they were soft, wet, and warm. He tasted like mint and the chocolate frogs he’d eaten before bed. Instead of jabbing Ron’s tongue with his own, he let them slide against each other. He liked that much more than before, and Ron seemed to also.

Ron touched every part of Harry’s face with his hands. Harry couldn’t decide if he liked having his fingers in Ron’s hair, on his neck, on his arms, or on his back the best, so he kept moving them around. The longer they kissed, the more adventurous Harry felt. He stroked the roof of Ron’s mouth with the tip of his tongue, and Ron made a small noise in his mouth. He knew he had to remember that for later. Ron licked along the inside of his cheek, he wiped his tongue along Ron’s teeth, then Ron bit softly on his lip. Harry moaned quietly, and Ron did it again.

Harry wasn’t sure how long they kissed, but he had never experienced anything like it in his life. Finally, Ron rolled over and crawled underneath the covers beside Harry. They kissed for a little longer before they broke apart. As they were falling asleep, side by side, arms and legs touching, Harry knew that he definitely wanted to continue kissing Ron.

*

5

They were playing Quidditch at the Burrow. Harry and Hermione were losing to Ron and Ginny by six goals. Harry knew they’d lose if he didn’t catch the Snitch soon. But as he looked around for any glimpse of gold, he couldn’t help but stare at Ron. Ron was a lot more at ease playing with just the three of them than he’d ever been at school, so he and Ginny were doing rather well together. Harry wanted to tell Ron that he was a great Quidditch player, he could see it right here in the orchard, but he knew it’d be pointless. Ron would never believe him.

He liked the way Ron looked on the broomstick. His shirt damply clung to him, and it pressed even tighter around him as he flew through the air. His legs looked so muscular bent underneath the broomstick. Harry missed at least one Quaffle he could have stopped from going in the hoop because he was staring at Ron. Hermione and Ginny didn’t seem to notice, but Ron knew exactly why Harry missed the shot. He flew close by Harry, Hermione and Ginny on the other side, and said, “If I take my shirt off, I think I could catch the Snitch before you” with a smirk. Harry flew even closer to Ron, cast a glance behind him to make sure Hermione and Ginny weren’t paying attention, leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the lips before saying, “Bugger off”.

Harry caught the Snitch ten minutes later.

Harry and Ron offered to put up all of the equipment, and Hermione and Ginny ran back to the house leaving them alone. As soon as he was sure no one could see them in the orchard, Ron ran at Harry and tackled him to the ground. Harry fell back with a painful thud.

“Er – Ron?” Harry said, trying to catch his breath. “I think you almost killed me.”

“You’re such a wuss,” Ron said, pinning Harry to the ground by his shoulders. He tried to shift Ron off of him, but Ron was heavier than he looked and he not only had him pinned, but held his hips in place with his own and clamped his knees tightly around his legs.

“Yes. I’m such a coward. Sorting hat got it all wrong; should have been a Hufflepuff and all.” He grinned.

“Yeah, not brave at all. Run from danger. You suck a lot, Harry.” Ron was laughing. Ron’s face was now hovering very close to his own. Harry really wasn’t bothered by Ron on top of him anymore.

The sun was beating hotly against them. He felt sweat gathering on his body and saw beads of sweat on Ron’s face and rolling down his neck. He craned his neck and licked away a few beads under Ron’s chin. Ron’s eyes drifted shut.

Harry lifted his face slightly and kissed him. He kept his eyes open. He wanted to watch Ron’s face as they kissed, wanted to see the way his face looked that close. Ron’s eyes fluttered open, and noticing Harry was looking at him, he kept them open.

It was an odd sensation, watching Ron as Ron was also watching him. He could only see Ron’s eyes, forehead, hair, and one ear. He’d never noticed that Ron’s eyelashes were as long as they were, one of his eyes was slightly bigger than the other, and that he had a tiny scar beside his ear. Having his eyes open made him hyperaware of Ron; he felt every touch of Ron’s body against his own, the pressure of Ron’s lips was even greater, and the feeling of Ron’s tongue inside his mouth spread warmth all through him.

Ron nibbled lightly on his lip and Harry involuntarily bucked up against Ron. He felt slightly embarrassed, because that was territory they hadn’t ventured into during any of their previous make-out sessions. But Ron responded by grinding against him, and Harry felt that Ron was just as excited as he was. Ron’s grip on Harry was loosening as Ron’s hands started exploring the expanse of Harry’s chest and torso. As Ron teased the hem of Harry’s t-shirt, fingers brushing the skin of Harry’s stomach, Harry wrapped his arms around Ron’s back and slid his hands underneath Ron’s shirt. They were pushing boundaries, pressing further than they had ever before. Harry wasn’t sure if it was the atmosphere of a post-Sirius, pre-war world, or the sun and sweat and broomsticks and apple trees, but he felt something shifting inside him, shifting between Ron and him.

Harry scratched his nails along Ron’s sweatslick back, lifting his hips to meet Ron’s as they rubbed against each other. Harry knew where this was headed, and he wondered what it would be like to come with Ron. He hoped Ron wouldn’t think it was too gross.

He tried to keep his eyes open, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. He wanted to close them as he kissed Ron and pressed against him, but he didn’t. He noticed that Ron seemed to be facing the same problem, because his eyes would scrunch up, his face contorting in a way that Harry found extremely sexy. And when he came, his hips moved erratically against Ron’s almost of their own accord. And he kept his eyes open, and it was such a strange experience, having Ron looking into his eyes as he was coming against him. And seconds later, Harry watched as Ron came, his kisses becoming more open and less structured as he opened his mouth and grunted small groans into Harry’s mouth. Ron then took a deep breath and buried his face in Harry’s sweaty neck, placing small kisses against his Adam’s apple and underneath his chin.

“You okay?” Harry asked finally. He watched a bird fly across the sky and looked back towards the house to make sure Hermione, Ginny, or someone else wasn’t anywhere near.

“Fantastic, mate,” Ron said, laughing. He was still on top of Harry, and his weight was a nice comfort.

“I mean, about what we just did. Together. You have to admit, it was a little weird.” Harry slipped his hand underneath Ron’s shirt again and rubbed circles on his back.

“Yeah, I guess it was. I’ve never, you know, with someone else before. Percy walked in one time right after I had finished wanking, but he’s so repressed that he didn’t realize what was going on. Thank God it wasn’t Ginny, or worse, Fred and George.” Ron reached up and kissed Harry again. “It was nice.”

“Nice doesn’t seem to be the proper word,” Harry pointed out.

“Hermione would probably know the proper word for it.”

“But let’s not go and ask her,” Harry said, horrified at the thought. Ron laughed at the expression on his face.

“Yeah, better we don’t do that.”

Harry reached out beside him and fingered the end of the nearest broomstick thoughtfully. He could have lain like that forever, with Ron covering almost every part of his body, placing random kisses across his face and neck.

“You know, I’ve only been kissed by three people in my entire life that I can remember.”

“That’s more than me,” Ron pointed out dully. “Wait? Who else have you kissed besides me and Cho?”

“No.” Harry shook his head. “You misunderstood me. Your mother was the first person who ever kissed me. At the Burrow that first summer I came to spend with you.”

“Ew. That’s kinda gross, Harry.”

“No, it’s not.” Harry felt himself blushing and he regretted starting this conversation. “Just forget it.”

“No.” Ron propped himself up on an elbow and looked down into Harry’s face. All humor and teasing was gone; he was serious. “Go on. I want to know.”

“I don’t remember being kissed by my parents. You take it for granted because you’re mother kisses all of you.”

“But it’s not like I go around kissing Bill and Ginny all the time.”

“But you have been kissed by all your siblings at least once that you can remember, right?” Harry watched as Ron tried to think, then he nodded.

“Yeah.”

“And you said your Great-Aunt Tessie used to kiss you every time you visited. And your Aunt Muriel. And your mother and father. Your siblings. See what I’m getting at?”

“Kinda…”

“Before your mother kissed my head that day, I had never been kissed before. I know that my mother and father kissed me before they died, and Sirius and probably even Lupin – “ At this, Ron smirked. Harry ignored him. “Point is, it’s different for me. I can count the number of times I’ve been kissed on two hands.”

“Hey, I’ve kissed you quite a lot, actually.” Ron looked offended. Harry rolled his eyes.

“You get my point.”

Ron stared at him in wonder, then he leaned down and kissed him again. “We’ll just have to work on that, I guess.”

*

6

Harry felt something crawling on his face. He brushed at it, because growing up in a cupboard full of spiders made him used to brushing things off his face in the middle of the night. But it wasn’t a bug, or else it was a really large, persistent bug. His brain was still asleep and everything was moving very slow. Then he felt pressure against his side and against his mouth. He opened his eyes saw a large blur above him. His mouth started moving and he realized that someone was kissing him.

He pulled away and inhaled. “Ron?”

“Who else would be kissing you in the middle of the night?” Ron whispered. Harry relaxed into his bed and closed his eyes again as Ron placed a few light kisses against his lips. He smiled.

“No one,” he whispered back. “That’s why I was a little nervous.”

“I swear,” Ron said, pressing a kiss against Harry’s cheek, “if I ever catch Neville in bed with you, I’ll kill him.”

“Mmmhmm.” Harry was starting to drift off again, but Ron kept kissing him. He kissed his cheek, his ear, his chin, then his mouth. Harry kissed back, but he was half-asleep, so he knew it wasn’t a very good kiss.

“Sleepy boy,” Ron murmured against his mouth. Harry tried to smile, but it was hard with his tongue somewhere between his mouth and Ron’s. Half of him wanted to wake up and continue kissing Ron, half wanted to push him off the bed so he could go back to sleep. He stayed where he was and let Ron lead the kissing. It was quite pleasurable to have Ron kissing him while he had to do very little work except move his mouth and tongue a little.

Plus, he knew there were few better ways to be woken up in the middle of the night.

*

7

Harry was shaking, because he was still damp and cold from the pool, he almost drowned, they destroyed a Horcrux, Ron was back, and though Hermione was obviously miffed, he knew she was as glad as he was. The last twelve hours – not to mention the last six months – were wearing him down. Shaking, he figured, was probably the lesser of all evils.  
He waited near the edge of the beds while Ron changed into his pajamas. Even though he had on every bit of clothes that he had with him, every part of him was shivering and his teeth were chattering and he felt like he was frozen to the core. It was warm inside the tent, but he felt like he’d never get warm again.

“I think you’re slightly blue, mate,” Ron whispered. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he did not disturb Hermione.

“I think I might freeze my balls off,” Harry joked.

“Come here.” Ron reached out, grabbed Harry’s sweatshirt, and pulled him close. He wrapped his arms around Harry and started rubbing his arms, his back, his chest. “Blimey, you are cold.” Ron grabbed Harry’s hand and led him over to his bunk. Harry crawled into bed after Ron, and Ron wrapped the blankets around Harry tightly. “We’ve got to get your warm. Any ideas?”

Harry noticed the mischievous glint in Ron’s eyes and laughed softly. Ron’s absence had been a huge hole inside of him, but now, with Ron right there beside him, touching him, talking to him, breathing warm breath against his cold cheek, he felt Ron’s absence more than ever. He felt a great relief that he was back and anger that he left in the first place.

“You’re a right big git, you know that?” Harry said. Ron blinked at him in surprise. “Leaving Hermione.” He paused, then added quietly, “leaving me.”

“I’ve already said I’m sorry.”

“I know. I’m just letting you know. I hated you being gone. And you’re a git for leaving. I just had to tell you. I won’t say it again.” His teeth were chattering quite loudly and he hoped he wouldn’t wake up Hermione; he didn’t feel like dealing with her right now. He just wanted to be with Ron. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me, too.” Ron smiled sheepishly.

“Now kiss me.”

“Best thing you’ve said all night.” Ron leaned forward and kissed him. He crawled on top of Harry, making sure to wrap as much of his body as he could around him. Harry was still shaking, but he could already feel himself getting warm. Ron’s mouth was hot against his cold lips, his cheeks and nose pressing heat against his face, his body a heavy cover of warmth.

“Getting warmer?” Ron asked, massaging Harry’s arms. Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He was so tired; his whole body felt drained of everything. “Go to sleep,” Ron whispered against his hair, but Harry shook his head.

“I want to stay up with you,” he protested.

“They’ll be time for that,” Ron assured him. He scooted around so he was holding Harry close, Harry’s head on Ron’s shoulder. “Getting warmer?”

“Mmmhmm,” Harry hummed, already falling asleep.

  
-fin  



End file.
